Fair Bliss
by Kasage Starrunner
Summary: Quatre goes to the fair every year, but when Duo and his new girlfriend Hilde drag him to a circus show, he's reminded of a little boy named Trowa from a long time ago.


**Fair Bliss **

The fair lights were so bright at night.  They dazzled the eyes and filled the beholder with wonder.  Past the tents and vendors there was the great Ferris wheel, assembled ever year and taken down every year.  

It was a happy place, filled with a thousand smiling people from all over the state, some from all over the country.  They came for the food, the rides, the animals, or just for the smiles.  

The smiles.  They were the important things, a young man mused.  He strode down the dirt path off the side of the old 4-H buildings, watching the people flash by him in a blur, admiring the laughter and the happiness.  His happiness was lost to him, except in these places.  Here he could feel joy all around him and so his heart was lifted.

The youth pushed a strand of tousled hair from his face-it was blonde, near white like a young child's.  In fact, the face too was childlike, leading to wide, empathic oceanic eyes.  They carried the weight of a thousand emotions in their depths-a thousand peoples smiles and tears, a thousand peoples hidden joys and sorrows.

He paused to watch a toddler wrinkling his Mommy's legs with his tiny clenched fists, begging to see the ponies one last time.  He couldn't help but smile to himself, forgetting for a moment that there was such a thing as grief and pain just to see the world fro that tiny child's eyes.  All that mattered to him was the pony.  His mind could think of nothing better than seeing it, nothing worse than not doing so.

The youth pressed a finger to his lips and walked away, still smiling slightly, watching more people as he wander aimless through the various pathways.  Innocence is bliss, he thought, changing the old adage to suit his thoughts.

"Yo, Quatre!"  Silence broken, the young man stopped, tilting his head to the side, smiling broadly as he saw the chestnut braid wagging in the wind, a broad grin across the speaker's face.

"Duo!"  The voice was excited, and quavered with interest, as the violet-eyed youth had his arm wrapped about the waist of a cute little raven-girl.  She smiled at the blond briefly, and then turned her attention back to her braided beau, offering a smile and a giggle.

"Hey, aren't you going to introduce us?"

Duo twitched, shoulders shrugging in confusion.  "Huh?"   He paused, the words taking a few seconds to register.  The brown haired youth wasn't exactly used to formal introductions.  Then it hit him.  "Oh, Quatre this is Hilde, Hilde-Quatre.  I met her on the Gravitron-she about puked all over."

Hilde smacked him lightly on the shoulder.  "Stop that, Duo, you'll make everyone think I'm a wimp."  Her hand darted forward and grabbed the black ball cap perched on Duo's head, placing it quickly backwards upon her own head, making her at once seem very boyish.

"Ah, come one, Hilde.  Give me my hat."

"No."

Duo whimpered for a moment, but decided that the hat wasn't worth confrontation.  He'd just steal it back later when she wasn't looking.  He looked to Quatre again, grin reappearing on his face.  "Hey, we're going to this little show thing.  They have some clowns and stuff in from the circus.  You want to come?"

Quatre stepped back a few feet, unsure of what to say.  He had never been sure about clowns.  Ever since he was a child they had frightened him.  The painted faces gave him nightmares.  They were terrors to him, not humor.  "I don't think so-"

"I'm not gonna take no for an answer!"

The blonde twitched, and then relaxed, breathing a sigh as his shoulders slacked.  Duo wasn't going to let him argue-the grinning face told him that.  He scuffed his feet and looked at the ground.

"Okay, I'll go," he mumbled.

"Huh, you're talking to your shirt, what'd ya say?"

"I'll go."

If it were possible the grin on the chestnut boy's face widened even more.  "Alright!  We're goin' to the circus-hey maybe I can pick you up a chic."

"Um, I'll get my own, thank you."

"Oh, that's right, you don't like chics."

Quatre flushed.  Looking at the ground again.  "Don't announce it to the whole world, I get enough shit about it already."

"Shit-man you've gotta stop hanging with me.  I'm absolutely ruining you."

Hilde smiled, bluish eyes growing.  "Hey, if you're worried about me, Duo already told me.  See, for a while, I went through this gender crisi-"

"And she thought she was a lesbian.  How cool is that, you've made a friend."

"Uh, can we just go?"  The blond preferred to get off the subject, after all the whole idea was new to him.  Duo just didn't understand that not being attracted to women was something he was still getting used to.

"Better drop the subject, Du-chan."  Hilde smiled again, more gently.  "Let's go have so fun-no chic/boy talk, kay?"

Quatre nodded and smiled.  "Okay."

The Circus-show was set up in one of the large tents beyond the grandstand. It was a show that had been coming for years to the Fair, but Quatre could only remember going to see it once-and event hen the memories were sparse, he had been very small.  Duo, however, had gone every year-and each year with a different girl.  He was currently very proud of himself, as he had dragged the poor blond along for the ride for the first time in years.

Quatre sighed inwardly; it was a nice gesture really.  Duo could be an ass, but he liked to see everyone happy.  Besides, there would be a lot of joy from little children at this show.  He smiled, already feeling the warmth inside him return.  A smile crept on his pale face as he though of the giggles and grins.  He smiled softly to himself as he followed his black clad friend and his girl, keeping the thought with him whilst they found their seats.

The seats, as it turns out, were crunched next to a bunch of elementary age children.  Quatre smiled and watched Duo grin-he could be such a monkey around kids.  The violet eyes brightened and to Hilde's surprise he tapped one on the shoulder.

"Wanna see me do my elephant impression?"  The voice was ridiculously excited, it was obvious Duo had obtained a Mountain Dew or Surge to drink before he arrived at the Fair.

The child, a curly haired brunet just looked at him startled.  Brown eyes blinked in her cute little face as her mouth hung agape.  Another girl turned around, this one older with straight brown hair and looked Duo shyly in the face:  "Mommy says we're not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Huh?"  A confused look crossed the braided youth's face and Quatre giggled.  It was good to be young enough to follow Mommy's rules.  His eyes smiled with his lips, watching the children react to Duo with a fascinated intensity.

"Okay, ummm …" The youth sought for a loophole.  "Okay, my name's Duo, so now we're not strangers anymore."

"Duo-" Hilde hissed, not wanting the kids to get in trouble.

The curly haired little girl just smiled, fearful glance passing away.  "My name's Hope and this is my big sister Sarah.  I'm happy to meet you, Duo."  Her voice twittered like a little bird's, all excited and bubbly.  The words were mangled because of her age, but she was easy enough to understand.

"Hope's a pretty name," said Hilde, while Duo congratulated himself on his ingenuity.

"I don't know you," stated the girl frankly.  Quatre giggled again.  Children were so …  Innocent, that was the word.  They were utterly and fragilely innocent.  Hope looked at Duo again, eyes twinkling excitedly as her disgusted sister turned back around in her seat.  "Will you do your elephant noise now, Duo."

Another girl turned around.  "He can do an elephant noise?"  Now two sparkling sets of eyes looked at him, one brown and the other blue.  The second girl was older, with short flaming hair that made her look boyish, in that way that looks cute on little girls.

"Sure can, sweet-hearts," he replied, getting giggles from the pair of children.  Encouraged by this display, Duo raised his hands to his lips and let out a loud ***BRRRRRRRRROUBA***  ****

People turned about in their seats at the sound and the braided boy slunk down in his seat, a little embarassed.  "I didn't do it," he muttered, hoping the kids would be blamed, not him.

Hope turned back around, jerked that way by Sarah, but the little redhead remained and waited to see if the braided youth could do more tricks.  Icy blue eyes sparkled, making a startling appearance against her bright red hair.  "Can you teach me to make sounds?" she asked curiously.

Duo started to answer, but the words were lost under the noise of the announcer.  The show was starting.  Quatre sighed and turned away from Duo's odd conversation and looked down the bleachers to the "stage area".  Maybe this would be so bad …

He looked down at the ringmaster.  He was a tall middle-aged man with a dark beard.  His red suit contrasted nicely against the pale background of the dirt floor and the pale skin caused by the spotlight.  Quatre smiled.  He seemed nice enough.  

/I wonder what he's like?/

The first act, whatever it would be, had been lost due to chatter and a bad P.A. system.  The blond would just have to watch and see, hoping that the clowns would come later when he could conveniently sneak out.

Could he be so lucky?  No, as out tumbled a troupe of clowns from the cliché tiny car.  Some were small, some big, but all wore the make-up that had haunted his sleep for years.  The baggy clothes only made them more sinister.  He sought to turn his eyes away, but found them riveted as they tripped each other and made bad slapstick jokes.

He wanted to escape.  Sweat trickled down his back and for a moment the poor youth thought he would panic.  Then the initial group of clowns tumbled away, leaving a large box on a high rise in the center of the stage.

Quatre's eyebrows quirked.  /A box.  It must be another clown./  He shuddered and tensed like he was about to get up and leave, but then the box opened and froze him once again.

The contents were quite a surprise to the young man, as out of the box stepped a very un-clown-like thing indeed.

As the form rose, scarves fell to reveal a gorgeously sculpted young man.  His body was like an ancient statue, perfect and aesthetic, rippling slightly as he stood.  Baggy green pants hung loose from his waist, but it was of no concern to Quatre.  The man was gorgeous.  It was impossible to him that this unreal man could ever be a clown.  A mask of clay and brown hair covered one side of his face, but the blond sought hard to pierce through the distance and the dark to see the other side, seeking one eye under the obscurity of hair and darkness.

A tingled shivered up and down his spine.  The face, the hair, it was all so familiar.  As the form ascended to the tightrope, Quatre's mind ran away with him.  Yes, he had met someone like the clown before.  It had been the last time he went to the circus show … when he was very small.

*********************************************************************

Quatre sat in the back room of the tent, trying not to cry anymore.  He had been so upset when the clowns came out that he couldn't stop crying.  The little boy his tiny hands to his eyes and clenched his teeth.

/I won't cry anymore/ he thought.  This only caused him to burst further into tears.   The older girl, who was watching him, came over and patted his tiny shoulder.  She was called Catherine, that was right.  He looked up at her, blue eyes wet, tears dripping down his face and onto the floor.

Her gray eyes showed concern and she hugged him tight.  "Its okay," she murmured.  "They aren't real tiny fella.  The clowns, they're just people with make-up on."

He sniffled and looked at the ground, ashamed for having been seen crying.  His father had told him that big boys don't cry, yet no matter how hard he tried the tears always came.  And now, the ringmaster had sent someone to retrieve the frightened boy in the audience to keep him quiet or sooth him.  He felt very weak.

Catherine twirled a curl of brunette hair in one finger, watching the little boy sniffle and calm himself.  He was a cute child really, not unlike her brother.  Where was he anyway?  She looked about for him and sighed.

"Trowa!" she bellowed, startling the tiny blond.  "Come here and talk to the little boy I found."  Seeing Quatre startled, she offered another comforting maternal smile.  "Sorry, Trowa like to ignore me.  I already told him to come out and talk wit you once."

Quatre shook his head.  He didn't want company.  More people would see him cry then.  He shuddered and wiped the tears hurriedly from his face as he heard the soft patter of running feet.  The young figure skidded to a halt right in front of Quatre, nearly toppling him off his seat.

"Trowa," chided Catherine.  "How many times have I told you not to run back here?  You could trip somebody up."  She bent down on one knee to his level.  "I gotta go help clean the uniforms, Tro.  Be a good boy and keep Quatre here company.  Just don't go outside the fairgrounds okay?"

Trowa nodded shyly, brown hair obscuring the features on the right side of his face.  Quatre looked at him, bashfully, watching the emotions of fear and uncertainty roll around the green eyes.  Seeing no anger or frustration, the blond boy tried to smile.

"I-I'm okay now," he stuttered.

Trowa just nodded and sat down silently next to Quatre.  The blond wondered for a brief moment if he could talk at all.  It would be very fascinating to try and communicate with someone who couldn't talk.

"So you're Trowa?"

The boy looked at him through his hair, as though it were a curtain he was hiding behind.  The fear had left Quatre now, and was replaced by curiosity.  Trowa flinched and slunk in his seat, trying to escape the inquisitive gaze.

"I'm trying to make conversation.  You're supposed to talk, like, 'Yeah I'm Trowa,'" explained the blond quite bluntly.  That was the joy of childhood, honesty being its key rule.

The brown haired boy looked at him and sighed.  "I'm not Trowa," he said softly.

Quatre looked about confused.  How could he not be Trowa, Catherine had said that was his name.  He tried to find an answer in the other boys emerald orbs, but could read nothing.  "How are you not Trowa?  Did Cathy lie?"

Trowa shook his head.  "No, she calls me Trowa, so it's my name.  But I really don't have a name."

"Oh, that's very sad."  Quatre looked at the floor, empathizing with the nameless boy.  It would be horrible not to have a name.  How would you know who you were?

A thought struck him and he looked up again, face brightening.  "You wanna see my bunny?  It's in the show!"  The boy giggled excitedly, trying to drag Trowa up from his seat.

"I-I don't know," said the other boy softly.

"She's really cute.  It'll make you happy!"  A smiled broadened across the boys face and he grabbed Trowa's hand, pulling him to his feet.  "Just come with me, she won first prize for being the cutest bunny there."

Trowa, unable to resist followed the well-meaning little boy out of the tent.  His joy had rather bubbled over, and the brunette couldn't help but offer a wan smile.  He had never seen a bunny before.  The circus had lions, but never bunnies.  He wondered what they were like, they looked so soft.

The boy looked at Quatre.  "Where is she?"

"You go this way, on the other side of the horsy track.  There's a big barn where they keep all the rabbits in little hutches.  They're kinda of small, but it's like a big bunny hotel, so it's not so bad.  Come on!"

Trowa followed the young blond as he skipped down the dirt path around the "horsy track" as he had laughingly called it.  Hunched shouldered he trotted softly behind the excited child, trying not to trip over the pebbles or run into other fair goers.  The blond boy paused for a moment and watched the horses as they raced round the track, pulling their racing gigs at a sharp, two-beat gate-great legs stretching across the track and throwing up clods of dirt.

Trowa, captivated, watched for a moment too, but began moving again when the determined little angel grabbed his hand and dragged him onward, around to the "Bunny Barn".

It was actually a dejected, half run-down building.  There were holes in the wood-chinks out of it and it needed a coat of paint, but from the look on little Quatre's face, Trowa could see that to the boy it was better than a palace of gold-a place where he could show off his prize, his cute little bunny.

Trowa paused at the large doorway-well, large in comparison to his body, looking at the patterns of the wood and half-stripped paint falling from the walls.  He felt a tug from Quatre.  

"Come on, you've gots to see her!"

The boy blinked his green eyes, but obeyed the command.  There was something so cheerful yet demanding in it.  He couldn't resist.  It was as though Quatre's voice contained some of what Trowa had never been able to find as a boy.  

A friend?  Maybe that was it.

He walked into the building, following the bobbing blond head down the rows of chicken wire hutches to a small little one in the far right corner, decorated with an oversized and over-dramatic blue ribbon.  Inside, curled up and asleep, was a tiny little lop-bunny, with brown fur and wide chocolate eyes.  It stared out with an egotistical yet docile expression, blinking a bit as the nose twitched.

"Isn't she cute, Tro?"

Trowa nodded.  "I've never seen a bunny before."

Quatre blinked like he was crazy.  Never seen a bunny?  That was very strange.  His sisters had always had bunnies.  Daddy hadn't been happy when he wanted to show one in the fair, but gave in after he found Quatre was completely and utterly petrified while on the back of a more stately horse.  The boy shuddered in remembrance.  It had been hot-blooded, that was what Abdul had said.  The horsy had thrown him and it hurt.  He had a bruise for a week.

The blonde shook it off and turned his attention back to the bunny.  "Her name is Fluffy."

Trowa narrowed his eyes.  "Fluffy?"

"Uh huh, I named her all by myself."

Trowa giggled a bit.  Quatre seemed so happy about getting to name a rabbit.  It seemed silly, yet …  He grew sad.  Even the rabbit had a name.  He looked to the blond boy, who was now petting the bunny through the wire with his fingertips.

"He cleared his throat.  "What would you name me?"  

Blue eyes blinked, trying to understand the question.  What did Trowa mean by that?  Names were very important to him.  He smiled and thought a minute.  "I would call you a tree, like Oak or Ashe, or something like that.  You're eyes are very green, but I dunno.  It's easy to name a bunny.  People are harder-you can't call them Fuz or Fluffy."

Trowa offered a small smile.  "It makes sense, I guess."

Quatre nodded enthusiastically.  "You should get a puppy!" he exclaimed.

The brunette looked at the boy from behind his hair.  "I kinda have a lion-well I talk to him a lot."

"OO, what's his name?"

"Roary …"

The little boy skittered on his feet and giggled.  "I like that name.  You give good names, Tro."

The smiled broadened to something more genuine.  He had always thought people would call the name silly.  He looked back at the rabbit, blinking so unconcernedly in the hutch.  The bunny was lucky.  Quatre loved it very much.  He wondered what love like that was like.  Cathy loved him, but it wasn't what he was looking for.  In fact, he didn't quite know what he was looking for at all.

A sigh escaped his thin lips.  Quatre heard it and winced inside.

"You wanna hold her, I'll let you," he said, wanting to make the other boy happy.  If he were happy, then Quatre could be happy and all would be good and happy.

Trowa's whole face lightened and a surprised smile spread across his tanned face.  "You'd let me do that!"

Quatre nodded.  Climbing on a stool, he opened the latch.  With gentle fingers he felt about for the scruff of Fluffy's.  With a practiced carefulness, he lifted her from the hutch, supporting her hind legs with his free hand, wrapping his arm in a semi-embrace about the small brown body.

The blond looked at Trowa again.  "Pet her first, so she's knows you and won't kick then."

"Okay …" Shyly, the boy reached forward, touch a tentative finger to the fur near the bunny's head.  He jumped back, probably more startled than the rabbit.  "She's so soft."

Quatre nodded, white-blond hair bobbing up and down on his face as he smiled enthusiastically.  "Now," he explained while adjust Fluffy's position in his arms.  "Now I will show you how to hold her.  The first rule is you can't pick 'em up by their ears.  You'll hurt them.  You have to pick them up like this."  He demonstrated by holding her by the scruff again.  The rabbit sniffed unconcernedly.

"Ok."  Quatre walked over with the bunny and Trowa held out his hands.  Gently, ever so gently, the tiny creature was placed in the boy's arms.  He smiled despite himself, feeling the little heart beating near his chest.  It was the first time he'd ever held anything alive that close, the first time he's ever let anything alive be held that close.  His eyes narrowed blissfully and he began stroking the bunny with his fingertips.

"She's a nice bunny, really," said Quatre, making certain the rabbit didn't become alarmed.  He began to pet her too.  The ears flicked as the nose continued to patiently twitch.

"She's a very nice bunny," replied Trowa.  "I see why she won the blue ribbon.  I bet there's no better bunny in the world."

The blond pranced at this.  "I think so too.  I'd never, ever want another bunny.  Not never!"

The other boy giggled at this.  "Never?"

"Nope.  I like Fluffy."

Trowa kept smiled and let the blond take the bunny to put her back in the cage.  He was a little sad not to be feeling the rapid heartbeat anymore, but was a little more joyful than before.  Quatre was nice, even though he was afraid of clowns.   He had a nice bunny and a nice Dad who would let him have a bunny and sisters and … and a family.

He fought off the melancholy and watched the rabbit.  Quatre, however, didn't leave him silent for long,

"Wanna play a game?  There's all kinds of games around the fair."

"A game."

"Come on, I'll show you!"

The row of game booths was on the Midway, close to the circus tent again.  Surrounded by rides and food booths, Trowa diligently followed his new friend past dart games and gold fish games.  They were intriguing, but obviously not what the blond wanted to show his new best bud.

The booth he stopped at was inside a large pole-structure building, more of an arcade as opposed to the Midway strip.  The blond boy knew it was open all year as an Arcade, but during the Fair was the only time he was allowed to come-and it had his favorite game.

He stopped at the token machine and put in a few dollars.  Grabbing his prize he looked at the bewildered Trowa.  "You use these to play the games," he explained, putting a few in the brunette's hand.  He then skipped off, expecting the other to follow him to the row of skee-ball machines lining the side of the arcade area.

Quatre put in a token and watched as the brown balls rolled down the gully down to where he could reach them easily.  Smiling, he looked at the wood lane and the hole where he would try to roll the balls.  He giggled.  It was going to be very fun.

Trowa, however, was confused.  'What's this, Quatre?" he questioned.

"This," he said ecstatically, "Is skee-ball."

"Skee-ball?"

"Yeah, you take these brown balls and try to roll 'em into the little holes.  The more points you get, the more tickets you get and you can get prizes.  I try to hit the 50, but am not that good at it.  Lemme show you."

With that, the blonde boy took a ball in his hand and with a swift sharp motion, toss-rolled it up the alley, watching with a little disappointment as it only hit 20.  However, he turned back to Trowa with a smile, giving him a ball.  

"See, you try."

"I dunno, Quat."  He smiled through his fear of failure.  He'd given him a nickname, Quat.

"Go ahead and try, Tro.  Its just a game. It's for fun."

"Ok," mumbled the other.  His first throw went way wild, rolling up the side and into the 10 point gutter at the bottom.  He looked at Quatre, disappointment crossing face.  The blond just smiled at him and handed him another ball.

"Try it again!"

Trowa shrugged and did, trying to focus on the fifty.  It was in the corners, a very tough place to send a ball.  He passed his tongue over his lips, and keeping his eye on the target, let the ball fly from his hand.

It rolled up the alley swiftly, bouncing off the bumper.  With a soft ker-plop it flew straight into the 50 slot.

Quatre's mouth dropped open and he clapped excitedly.  "You're good at this, Tro.  You got it in on the second time."  He grabbed another ball.  "Do it again!"

The two continued in this manner until the tokens ran out.  Collecting their tickets, Quatre trotted off to the prize stand, dragging Trowa behind him once more.

He waved the tickets at the "prize man" to get his attention.  The guy, a teenage boy more than a man, looked up and walked over lop-sided grin on his face.

/Kid's are so easily entertained./ he thought smiling.

"What can I get for you?"

Quatre thought a minute, looking at all the prizes.  He blinked, trying to decide.  There was candy and other silly things.  He looked at Trowa.  "What do you want?"

"Ummm …" He hesitated.  He didn't know.  Green eyes searched and lighted on a little plastic flute.  He pointed to it.  "I like that."

Quatre clapped.  "Okay, if you get the flute, I'll get the violin."

Trowa smiled and nodded, as the grinning teen took the tickets and retrieved the prizes from the shelves.  Craftily, he grabbed a couple of candy sticks and added it to the prize. 

'Here you guys go," he said.  "Candy's on me."  He motioned a quiet sign with his fingers, and watched the two go, fingering his light brown hair, slicking it back over his head, revealing near sculpted eyebrows and piercing, amused blue eyes.

/Cute kids/ he thought.

The two walked along together, tooting and playing with their noisemakers, sucking on candy in-between.  As they walked down the Midway, Trowa spied the circus-show tent.  He sighed, disappointed.  

"I guess I should go back."

Quatre gave a disheartened look.  "Really …" He wanted to play with Trowa longer.  He was so much fun.

"Well, if I don't go back, Cathy will worry."

"That makes sense."  The boy flashed a smile again.  "Well, I'll come visit you tomorrow.  I promise, then we can get addresses or something!"

"It's a deal!"

"Really?"

Trowa nodded, hair bouncing with the motion.  "Bye, bye, Quat!  See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

He never had been able to keep that promise.  It was really funny how he had never seen him again.  His father had said that Trowa was of too low a class to associate with, and that members of the Winner family only had a place in giving charity to orphans-not patronizing and befriending them.  Duo had been his defiance to that rule, but it had come when he was old enough to rebel.

He glanced at him briefly, wondering at the fool's intrinsic happiness.  What kept him going, anyway?  The blond youth just shook his head, clear eyes being lured back to the clown.

He was so familiar like that, with his hair, his eyes.  He was so like Tro.  His mind wandered, wondering if it could be Trowa.  The thought was shaken from his head.  No, the brunette could be anywhere by now, though he couldn't help wondering where he was.

Quatre watched enraptured and nostalgic as the clown began his routine.  He was lithe and limber.  When he walked the tight wire, he seemed to float, as though he were not truly walking but flying.  There was no wire, just the brown haired youth, hair in his eyes, dancing upon the air.

He couldn't look away.  Despite the clown mask there was no way he could turn his head away.  It was as though the orbs that he couldn't quite see held them, and it seemed they stared right at him.  He had the strangest feeling of adoration-something he had never felt in his life.  It was the kind of feeling he had been supposed to have while he dated Dorothy-but that was before he understood his nature.

Quatre's head began to follow his eyes, swaying back and forth.  A few times he nearly brushed against Hilde, but stopped himself before getting a slap on the face.  Vaguely, he could still hear Duo chattering, and as the act ended, the rest of the show grew vague too.

And then it was over, the dancing tightrope clown still traipsing about in his mind.

*Poke poke* He felt a light tap come upon his shoulder, breaking him out of his daze.  

"Hey, wonder-boy, you ready to go?"   It was Hilde, trying to drag Duo from his chat with the redheaded girl at the same time as awakening the dreamy eyed blond.

Quatre blinked, blue eyes refocusing on the world around him.  The image and memories were gone now.  He stood as if awakened from a dream.  "I'm sorry, Hilde.  I was thinking."

Ebony eyebrows quirked in confusion.  "Huh, about the clowns."

The youth shook his head, a smile flashing briefly across his cherubic face.  "No, not exactly."

"Hey, so you though the dancing clown was hot too."   Hilde laughed.  It was a good-natured laugh, not the kind to make a person sickened or angry.  "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."  She turned to Duo and grabbed on his braid, yanking it between two fingers.  "Come on, Duo!  We have to /go/."

"One more minute," the braided boy cried, resuming his conversation with the girl.  "And so, a donkey+ a soccer ball is a kick in the as-"

A voice broke his joke into pieces.  "Mariemaia, its time to go to the pony show."

The redhead turned around exactly and ran to the keeper of the voice, a young man who must have been her father.  She gave him a hug and looked up at him, big blue eyes blinking.  "Can't I stay and listen to Duo a little longer."

The man put a hand through his gold brown hair, sculpted eyebrows rising over his sapphire orbs.  The girl looked a lot like him, Quatre mused.  In fact, the man reminded him very much of the young man working in the arcade so long ago.

The tall man shook his head.  "Yu can't be late, or they won't let you in the contest."

The girl pouted.  "Ok, Daddy."  

He looked at Duo and gave a slight smile.  "Thank you for entertaining her, young man.  She insisted to me that she wouldn't enjoy this show.  What's your name?"

"Duo, err Duo Maxwell."

He took the braided boy's hand, much to his surprise.  "Nice to meet you, Duo.  My name is Treize.  I think you have a job as a babysitter if you want it."

"Really!  Man I love kids, ya mean you'd let me watch her?"

Treize nodded, pulling a business card from the pocket of his denim jacket.  "Here, that's my number.  Give me a call and we'll work something out."

"Oh thanks man!"  He turned to Hilde as the golden haired man walked away, carrot-top daughter in tow.  "Did ya see that?  He wants me to baby-sit for him!"

"Yeah, and I think he's nuts."

"Hey, you don't watch it and I won't go out with you again."

"You have to go out with me again.  I still have your ball cap."

"Aw, shit."

Quatre laughed.  Duo had been outsmarted for the second time he'd seen today.  Hilde was going to be a handful.  /Good, Duo needs a handful./ he thought.

"Hey, what are you laughing at?" accused the youth.

"You," replied the blond honestly.

"Damn it, you're on her side!"

Quatre laughed again, letting it bubble up from some place in his soul that he'd never realized was there.  Why was he so happy?  He had no idea.  Blue-green eyes met perplexed violet ones.  The blond smiled.  "What are we going to do now?"

Duo scratched the top of his head, losing himself in thought.  "Well, Hilde and I were gonna go ride some more rides."

"Oh."  Quatre paused.  "They make me sick."

"I know," said the chestnut haired boy, grinning.  "Hilde and I want some time alone."

Quatre shook his head.  "Well, you can have it.  If you want me, I'll be in the arcade playing Skee-ball."

"Skee-ball, don't you ever play anything else."

"No.  See you, Duo."

"Sure, see ya."

Duo grabbed Hilde around the waist again, and turned to go, braid waving back and forth with the bounce of his strides.  Quatre shook his head, amused.  Hilde may be the first girl that has the chance of whipping him, he thought to himself, turning toward where the arcade was set up.

"Some things never change," he mused aloud, walking slowly through the door.  Reflexively, he pulled out he crumpled remains of his fair money and sent it through the token machine, grabbing them and walking to the Skee-ball machines.  It was almost machine-like in itself he'd done it so many times before.

Token-drop-balls.   He picked up one, feeling its weight in his hand, admiring it for its imperfection.  The worn brown coating of the ball was so welcoming-a stable thing in an unstable world.

He giggled at himself.  It was a silly thought.  Taking brief aim, he launched the ball watching the angle of his arm, and then the ball as it flew upward and into the 20 slot.  "Damn, I never get that 50," he muttered under his breath.

It was a quiet statement, but someone must have heard him.  "It's because you're aiming wrong," a voice responded from behind him

Quatre jumped and whirled around, a little more than offended.  

"Don't worry, I can help."  Quatre looked at the speaker and gaped.  It-it was the clown.  He was dressed normally now, a tight black muscle shirt and tight blue jeans to go with it.  His hair still fell over one eye, but now he could see the color-emerald green.  That was, strange.

Seeming to ignore Quatre's astonished look, the youth moved forward.  "You mind if I show you?" he asked, calmly.  He voice was very light, yet there was an undertone of melancholy beneath it.  Quatre could feel it tingling beneath his skin, something he had felt only once before.

He handed the brunette a ball, letting him hefted it in his hands.  "Now the key," he said eying the various holes, "The key is too not look at the ball or your arm.  Concentrate on the target.  You have a better chance of getting it in."  He tossed, and just as he said it went straight to the fifty.  "See?" he questioned looking at Quatre.

"You're good at this," said the blond.

"Yeah, I never would have played it had it not been for a kid who was afraid of clowns.  Now I'm addicted.  Everywhere I go, I play skee-ball.  Silly, huh."

Quatre double-taked, looking at the tall youth once again-that brown hair, the way it fell over one perfect green eye … "Green like a tree," he murmured.

"What?"  The youth had turned back to him, bewildered.

"Trowa?"  The name came out as a startled squeak.  "Tro-o?"

The tall man blinked, as though taking in the effeminate blond for the first time.  "Quat, is that really you?"  He blinked, not sure whether to smack him for not keeping his promise or wait for an explanation-besides that was so long ago.  The fact that he-

"It is you!"  Quatre felt himself involuntarily moving forward, closer and closer in Trowa's personal space.  "Do you know how many nights I sat up thinking about you-so many nights I wanted to see you but couldn't.  Father was so cruel."  With each word he got closer and closer.

Suddenly, Trowa wrapped his arms about the young man, not certain of the emotion that had come over him.  He pulled the blonde head close to him, remembering his own nights of wondering.   He'd never met another person like Quatre, ever in his life.  He had always been alone, and now the blond boy who had walked in and out of his life was back.

Quatre looked open, blue eyes catching hold of green and not letting go.  

"Tro …"

"Quat …"

The tall brunette inclined his head and Quatre leaned upward, standing slightly on his toes, letting their lips brush-first for an instant and then for a longer, sweeter moment.  They clung to each other in that manner, as though if they let go the other would disappear again into the night.

The two released each other and stood staring, surprised at their own audacity, but smiled as each had the same look of utter wonder and pleasure.  

They didn't even take another look at the skee-ball machine as they walked out into the brilliant night-lights of the Midway, hands entwined.

Footprints on the Heart: 

**  
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.  
Some people move our souls to dance.  
They awaken us to new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon.  
They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts  
And we are never, ever the same**

****************END**************************


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